Ghostly Realizations
by Hannanball13
Summary: Marshall struggles for peace and calm again- his world has been turned upside down.First, his break-up and now the unexpected loss of his very own Mary. She's gone- But, she's not. Marshall remains haunted and badgered by his partner- it's almost like old times... But, really it's just the past. AU
1. First Encounter

**Dear Readers, **

**I figured I'd try something new. Perhaps you could give it a chance? I could really enjoy writing this, and I'm sure you have ever seen anything quite like it on this fandom! Please read and review. I have written this out of pure inspiration- it is short, but I sure hope you like it! **

**-Hannanball13**

***NOTE* - **_Long, italicized_** passages are memories. **_**Bold, italicized**_** phrases are inner thoughts.**

**XXX**

"Ghosts are a metaphor for memory and remembrance and metaphorically connect our world to the world we wish we could have had with them."

-Leslie What (Modified)

Marshall shook his head violently, trying to knock the sight in front of him from existence. "No… NO!" He hollered at the apparition standing before him. "NO!" His large hands covered his eyes and the tears streaked his face. _**What is happening?**_

_The shots were like exhalations of a fatigued asthmatic screeching breathily across his face and skimming his collar and his cheek, but never smacking him directly. His fingers were intertwined tightly around hers. Mary was a few steps ahead dragging them away from the open fire. It was one second- and the grip on his knuckles was gone and the resounding 'thud' echoed through the parking garage and Marshall toppled over. He closed his eyes, waiting for that familiar, mind-numbing sensation of lead lodged in an appendage, but in time he realized everything had become still. The bullets were no longer flying from every direction, the danger was gone and the moment seemed to calm. _

_Marshall Mann lay there, groping for her, wondering where she had run off to. Until, he felt the warmness soaking into his jacket the moment was foggy, nothing was clear and the darkness surrounding him was enough to faze him from realization. His eyes widened, feeling the clammy flesh and tangled hair in his fingertips underneath him. He had stumbled over something, that's what had caused his fall, something had pushed his feet from underneath him. __**Not something, someone. **_

_He was sick now, his eyes finally adjusting to the blackness. The crimson pooled around her head and her chest. The quiet, soft and precise respiration of Mary Shannon had come to a halt and she lay there limply, unmoving even in his grasp. His cell phone screamed no service on his home screen. "Mary, you listen!" He ordered. "You can hear me! God, I know you can hear me!" He covered the spewing wounds with his shaking hands. "You're gonna be just fine." He reassured, you will!" _

_**She's gone. **__He thought, compressing her chest several more times. __**I've lost her. **__He blew into her throat, watching her chest fill with air and deflate. It was long before anyone showed, longer before an ambulance arrived, even if it was only minutes. It was forever when he laid her head in his lap, coming to the conclusion that he could only wait. The weak and labored thumping of her heart faded in and out, her lungs croaked and screamed for air and by the time that emergency vehicle showed, Marshall had made her so many promises- so many he should've made her a long time ago. _

_The waiting room was torture, more than it had been the time before. Because the time before he hadn't been covered in her volume, sputtering for words and utterances of kindness and caring like he was now. It came easy in a clean shirt, a voice and no memory of the horror and tragedy that had ensued those few years ago. _

" 'No' what, Poindexter?" The image laughed her hands on her hips. "You look like you've just seen a ghost or something."

He searched the room for another bystander, Jinx, Brandi, Peter, Mark even Stan, but everyone else had left. He was alone in this empty space, "M-Mar- Mar—

"Spit it out!" She ordered, taking a step forward. He found himself tripping backward in response, attempting to maintain the distance from his partner. "What has gotten into you?" Mary questioned. "Christ, Marshall quit your belly aching!" She reached for him as he clawed across the beige carpeting of the waiting room.

"Mary!?" He answered bewildered, the sweat pants issued as Witsec training garb stuck to him as the perspiration trickled from every pore and crevice on his body.

"Yeah?" She shrugged, sitting in a chair. "I have one goddamn headache." She added.

"Yo- I- wh—

"And your uncharacteristic gibberish isn't giving me any relief! Do you have any aspirin?"

"You- You're not real!" He hopped up, chewing on his bottom lip, shoving the door open to the private waiting area, leaving the disheveled, lived in space and all too real specter behind. Or so he thought.

"What the hell are you doing?!" She wondered from beside him. He jumped. "Not_ real_, Marshall? Are you taking some kind of crazy pills?"

"I- Mare… you're—you're…. a figment." He gulped. "Of my imagination. This is simply my reaction to a traumatic loss." Marshall stated shakily to the confused materialization.

"Traumatic loss? What in the fuck are you babbling on about?" She picked at her teeth and scratched at her collarbone, recoiling in discomfort.

He faced her sullenly and tiredly. "Mary…" He whispered. "You're gone." Marshall shuddered.

"Gone? Marshall, I'm right here." She smiled a goofy smile. "Did you get conked in that big ol' brain of yours?" She chuckled for a moment, her brow furrowing at the glum seriousness in his features. "I can't be. I'm standing, _right here!" _She grabbed for his arm, but found no lively, warm Marshall in her grip, just nothingness where he should have been.

He watched her terrified. "STOP IT!" He growled. "JUST STOP!"

"Marshall…"

"NO!" He repeated over and over. "NO! YOU'RE NOT MY MARY!"

"Of course I am… this has to be- hey…" She attempted a reassuring grasp once more, finding the same feeling of empty space.

"GET AWAY!"

"Listen, I don't know what's going on…"

"YOU'RE DEAD!" He cried. "YOU DIED TODAY!" He crumpled to the floor.  
"I'm sorry…" He whimpered on the ground. "I'm soooo sorry…" He was rocking now, back and forth- a mess, thanking God for the lack of population in this wing of the hospital. Marshall felt like a spectacle. He looked back up. "Mary?"

But, she was gone.


	2. The Past as the Now

**Second update! I was really excited to see the interest and the few reviews, so I'll continue! Please tell your friends about this story! It is oddly easy to write. Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**-Hannanball13**

**XXX**

"_The past is ghost, the future is a dream, but all we ever have is now." _

_-Bill Cosby_

Marshall was staring at the ceiling, reliving his bout of insanity over and over. She was so vivid, so… Mary. A tremor rocked through his body and he pulled the blankets to his chin, his nose still burned with cold. The thermostat was set lower than it normally was in the nighttime to conserve energy, but he had never been this chilly before. He turned to his side, wrapping the blankets around his lanky torso. He snuggled into his pillow, peeking over at the usually empty bedside. Marshall Mann hit the tiled floor, sprawling around to recover from the shock and peeked back onto the now un-sheeted surface of his mattress, doing a terrified double take at the lady lying on the untouched side of his bed.

"I'm baaack." She sang teasingly. "Now, here's the deal, Marshall…"

"What are you doing here?" He asked trembling. "You have to go…"

She huffed. "Stop interrupting me, doofus! I have something to say!" She stood, her fists clenched at her sides.

"What could y-you possibly have t-to say?" He stuttered.

"I'm dead. I could tell you a bunch of things." She smirked sadly. "You're right."

"Then you should understand exactly the perplexity I feel right now!" He moved across the tile, still entwined in his covers.

"Of course, I know_ I'd_ be kind of freaked out if you were shot down dead and were still hanging around me." She attempted a chuckle, but couldn't.

"I wish you could comprehend how funny I _don't _think this is." He sighed. "I feel like I've lost my mind. I feel absolutely _insane_." He made a gesture to his muddled head of hair and hopped to his feet.

"It's not a goddamn joyride being dead either." She snorted. "I have more aches and pains without a heartbeat than I did when I was alive." This time she managed a tiny smirk.

Marshall Mann was angry now, his face red and his teeth biting into his tongue so he wouldn't let it slip, but his filter was broken, sleep was light and unfulfilling- and the emptiness seemed to take up more space in him than anything else. "Why the hell are you so okay with this?" He growled.

"Hey! Don't talk down to the dead!" She countered jokingly.

"It's- don't talk _ill _of the dead, Mary. And that's beside the point; I have a right to fucking know!" He was still a great distance from her, thinking any moment he would awake from a _heavy _sleep, hoping the tall blonde in this room was just his mind playing exhausted tricks on him.

He could tell at how taken aback she was, the way she rolled her eyes in shocked reaction was enough to make the pain in his chest scream. "Well." She was standing now, Marshall having missed her heaving herself from the bed backed up to the wall. "I have no _kids…_ No one waiting for me to come home at night, Jinx is off doing her own thing, Brandi has a family…"

Marshall gulped, knowing precisely what was about to come next.

"_Mare?!"_

"_Marshall?" The voice was soft and shuddering, worn from tears and no hope. "I lost her." _

_He didn't understand at first, how could Mary have misplaced a child that had been in her womb only yesterday? And then it was all obvious. Mary Shannon was sobbing; Mary Shannon clung to her hospital sheets and wept hard and loud. Suddenly, he was overcome with sadness, so strong and so fierce Marshall Mann couldn't help but join in, holding his partner tightly in his arms. _

"_I'm so sorry." _

"_I know- I kn-ow I wa-wasn't the m-most excited ab-out it…"_

"_Oh Mary, don't blame yourself… don't blame yourself." Marshall repeated as he caressed her back and ran his fingers through her hair- searching for any soothing gesture to occupy his shaking hand. _

"_H-how can I n-not?" _

_He had pulled away from her then, pressing his palm to her pink cheek, wiping away tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. "Because, I know that even though you were unresponsive and all but accepting of motherhood, you were ready to embrace it. Maybe not now- but I'm sure if she had been born, a healthy, squirming…." He broke off, frowning harder than he had ever frowned before. "Bouncing, baby girl you would have had no other choice than to take her home…"_

"Maybe- maybe the world's better off…" She muttered, looking downward at her boot. He looked at her, her outfit of the utmost of his memories. Jeans- not the same ones she was wearing just yesterday, a tank top utilized as an undershirt showing from her shoulder uncovered by her normally disheveled t-shirt, these top garment were only partially covered by her leather jacket, which before and after her pregnancy she never took off her back. Her boots clung as they always did, tightly to her calves and her aviators were pushed to the top of her head, acting as a hairband would. But, Mary hadn't worn a hair band in years. And, of course, her gun holster hung- empty- at her side.

"Mary!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. "NO ONE is better off without you! Brandi and Jinx are a wreck! Not to mention your nephews have no clue what's going on and Stan can barely function lately! And I—

"You're seeing ghosts." She finished. She was quiet for a moment. And Marshall wondered if ghosts could cry and quickly shook the thought away. "Marshall?" She whispered.

"What?" He was heaving in great amounts of air, green with distraught anger and denial. The stages of grieving- he knew- didn't include hallucinations of the loved one in your bedroom.

"What- what happened to me, anyway?" She asked, shyly curious.

"You mean, you don't know?" He responded in disbelief, remembering the moment as vividly as it had happened.

"No, I have inkling, though." Mary answered, rubbing the back of her head with her index and middle finger.

"I don't really want to—

She glanced up at him sadly- her facial expression filling with understanding and regret.

"You were there?" She questioned in solemn disbelief.

He only nodded as he concentrated on stopping his bottom lip from quivering. Mary moved closer, slowly as not to upset him even more somewhat understanding the oddity of all of this.

"I think you were g- gone…. I think you w-ere b-before—

"Shhh…." She hushed him in the most gentle of ways. Softening her voice more than she had ever done, guilty for the pain she was causing him. "Marshall, I think the best thing I can do for you is to go—away…" It was easy to tell she hadn't a clue where and she was glum. "Both of us—even though you know I myself am not at all prone or okay with change and if I may say so, neither are you—need to move on." Mary reached for his hand, realizing she couldn't feel his warmth if she tried she her arm fall limply to her side.

He met her gaze, looking miserable and lost, tremors shifting through his body, at work- he was with Mary, after she lost that baby- he was with Mary, in fact- he was with Mary even more than he had ever been with his own girlfriend which was why they split in the first place. He hadn't told Mary yet, he hadn't had the nerve for the past two weeks and she hadn't asked or prodded. But, she probably realized now- Abigail was nowhere to be found. He liked to think he was one for change, but Marshall was all for the known, he enjoyed the feeling of certainty and the finite knowledge of absolute. Not this, he didn't like this. Something happening before you can blink, a thing that changes you for the worse and sends you through a whirlwind of the worst emotions- no, he wanted order. And he knew exactly why _this _specific example of transformation was most unnerving. Because it was without her. _**What would I do without you? **_He thought, wanting to cling and never let go, but he didn't dare move an inch, he didn't dare to even breathe.

Mary's lips curled in the saddest of manners. "Goodbye, Marshall. It's been a pleasure." She vanished, leaving the wake of her scent lingering in the room.

Marshall slid down the wall. He held his head, arguing over and over with himself. _**Am I crazy? **_"Mary?" He called into the emptiness. "Mary?" Again, but no response.

He gulped, pulling his fingertips across his scalp and swiping the beads of sweat that now trickled down his face. Marshall wasn't cold anymore, but his heart thudded in his chest wildly. Almost as if he was panicking his ears began to rings and pop. "Mary?!" He yelled frantically. He crawled across the floor, climbing into his bed. Marshall glanced at his cell phone, expecting a text message from her, a missed call from her phone number. He attempted to stand, but his legs wiggled, his knees nearly buckling as he advanced toward the bedroom overhead light switch. Leaning on the dresser, Marshall Mann took a few deep breaths. His jaw was clenched shut and he could feel it in his cheeks. "Mare?" He tried, weakly and without inflection. He crossed the space again, plopping down on the edge of the bed. "Please come back…" He whimpered. "I want you to come back."

More pathetic than he had ever felt, he climbed underneath the only sheet left clinging to his mattress. "Please?"

He heard the door slam. "Forgot my keys." She winked with a sheepish, sarcastic grin. "I told you- we suck at change."

**Please review and tell me what you think! Hope you enjoyed! Anything in particular you wish would happen?**


	3. Yellow

**My apologies. My stories went on hiatus, because I have been rather busy. Two of my friends just recently passed away in a car accident, so this hasn't necessarily been my forte. But, I'm back and better. So enjoy! A little lighter of a chapter—if that's possible. **

"**Look at the stars, and how they shine for you and everything you do…"**

**-"Yellow" Coldplay**

He was sitting in his half empty living room, now bare of any furniture that had been Abigail's. Although, rather untimely for Marshall and the current situation, she had gotten back from Texas and had had no knowledge of the conundrum her ex had been in the past week. Marshall Mann undid the collar of his button up, stripping off the tie and the jacket and just sat there, staring at the floor. The shiny tile was enough to keep what little attentions he had these days and the lump in his throat remained, unmoving and strong refusing to let him give in to tears anymore. The last three hours were so fresh in his mind, a wake unlike any other he had attended- a life lost too soon, a life that didn't live nearly as much as anyone hoped she would. Marshall started rocking back and forth, a now familiar movement to his aching body.

There were so many pictures, so many to fool them all that that those last seven years of her life had been happy ones. He knew_ he_ hadn't been happy. And as he stood in line, the grief only became worse and worse and he almost forgot.

"Doofus, what the hell happened? It looks like a ghost town in here." She smiled a mischievous grin.

Partially startled, but strangely relieved, he took to answering her as quickly as possible with a cunning retort. "Abigail came by. She sends her condolences… Do you accept them?" He glanced up, his eyes twinkling back facetiously.

"It depends, is she the reason you're so glum and dressed like a penguin?" Mary leaned against a bare wall. Her hands hung from her dark blue jean pockets, her hair dangling to her shoulders. He hadn't noticed, but she looked dull, not as bright as the former Mary. The physical, actual, and tangible Mary. Not this one, not the one he couldn't touch- it was almost disappointing that he would never have her the way he had hoped.

"No, my friend. The reason I am dressed so very dapper is because of _you. _Today, was a memorial in honor of daughter, sister and U.S. Marshal, Mary Shannon." He said. "Do you know her?" He teased.

She scoffed. "Know her? I lived with her pathetic ass for forty two years." She winked. "How was it?" She cringed. "Bad? Jinx, was she—was she okay?" Mary questioned.

"She's… well, she's Jinx." He admitted carefully. "She's been rather profoundly affected by the events of the past few months. More than you would believe." He shook his head. "And Brandi and the kids, they're not doing so hot. I count six separate times, Andy asked where _Aunt Mare _was." He realized it wasn't the most reassuring thing to reply with. "They're… not well, Mary." He added quietly.

"I guess I picked the wrong person to hang around then." It was weak and obviously forced. "Tell Brandi it will be all right. Tell mom, tell her—everything will be, will…." She sat down on the edge of his end table, the cool air brushing past her face as the space between then became smaller. "Will be fine." Mary finished.

"I have been." Marshall rasped. "But, I think the more I say it, the less they believe me. The less _I _believe it, actually." He wiped his head with the back of his head.

"It will be. Marshall, look at me." She waved her hand in front of his face. This was a way she had adapted to her advantage, an easy technique that didn't involve the need for touch to grab his mind and eyes from whatever they were focusing on. He did, looking up with glazy, sorrowful beads of exhaustion. "Stop mourning me. I'm not worth it." She sighed. "You, Jinx, Brandi, her munchkins… and maybe even Stan are the only ones hanging on their last moments with me. I was nothing special, I'm forgettable. And I may not be leaving until you don't need me anymore- but, eventually, you need to move on. To carry on at work without getting all emotionally indisposed when glancing at my desk or looking at a picture…Marshall, please…." She was very close, he could imagine her breath on his face, but was just chilled with the almost contact.

"I don't think you understand, Mary." He whimpered, yearning to touch her cheek or run his fingers through her hair, but he fought it, chewing on his bottom lip. "You're more than you think. I feel_ sick_, and_ empty_ and_ wrong_. Just sitting here is absolutely wrong to me. I feel my heart beating, but it is no longer as satisfyingly throbbing as it was before. It pumps with guilt, anguish and fear. I miss you. I miss you so very much and by no means will I _ever _be able to forget you… Not ever." He stopped, grinding his palms against his thighs. "I _loved _you." He said through gritted teeth.

"I loved you too, Marshall." She responded in a whisper. "Completely, with all of my heart- but, you were with Abigail. Happy- with, Abigail." Mary repeated. "And she was more deserving than I…" She tried to soothe instead of sound accusatory.

By now, he was weeping, hard and steady- tears he never thought he had left. "I wish you would have told me! Now… there's nothing I can do about it!" She could easily see the anger in his face he was attempting to conceal.

"Marshall." Mary smirked sadly. "Come here." She gestured gently in her own direction.

He shook his head. "No."

"Just get the fuck over here!" She argued. "Use your imagination." Mary said, stepping toward him. "Close your eyes and remember me." She whispered. And he tried, wrapping his arms around the chilly spot where she stood. "Now pretend I'm warm, pretend it's two weeks ago and I've told you everything I just did. Hold me." She brought her hands closer to his face. "Remember my touch." She whispered again. "Now use that memory of yours, Marshall. That time in the barn. The feeling of my lips on yours."

And it was silent for a moment, while he waited and waited. And he tried so hard to feel it. Just when he thought his attempts were in vain, he felt warm again. And for a moment he could feel her in his grasp, her hands on his shoulder blades, the soft, damp kiss of Mary Shannon.

He took a sharp breath in at the feeling and opened his eyes to find, that she was gone.

Marshall's heart thudded again, the way it had before. And he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, shedding it onto the couch cushion and sliding his trousers. The belt buckle hit the ground with a clang. For the first time in a long time, he grinned, still feeling the tingle of her close touch, suddenly so sure she was real now.

In his socked feet he traveled to his bedroom, ready for sleep. He lay in his nest, his bed unmade from the last night he slept, the pillow no longer at the head of his bed, but the middle, the blankets at the foot. He slid underneath the sheets, nestling comfortably into the cool blankets. His undershirt was light and his boxers barely noticeable on his legs so he brought the blankets to his chin. "Good night, Mary." He smiled.

"Night, Marshall." She replied from his side.

His eyes closed in rest, noticing the warmth on his covered stomach, a hand, still and familiar.

A seemingly warm body, curled around his.

How he wished he'd wake up from a nightmare.

**Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Concerns? **

**Any suggestions **

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Another Goodbye

**So, this week, I've update Forty Weeks, Her Moment of Weakness and this one! So I hope you enjoy this next chapter- tiny bits of fluff, but the ending won't seem to dramatic if I'm not ending the story here!**

**Hope you enjoy! Words will be exchanged!**

"**Give me a minute, I don't know what I'd say in it. I'd probably just stare, happy just to be there…" **

**-P!nk, 'Beam Me Up'**

"At least show yourself so I can enjoy being absolutely freezing." Marshall teased to the empty room, while he rubbed at his arms to keep warm.

He wrapped himself in his jacket, even though he wanted to shower- he'd rather chat with Mary. He made himself comfortable on his sofa.

"So what's the occasion?" Mary smiled facetiously. "It's not every day I get to see a warm, handsome man in his boxers." She stepped back a little. "I better step back; don't want you getting too cold." She snorted, leaning against the sill of the front window.

"Do you mean they're men where you are?" He questioned, folding his hands so that they covered his lap.

"Only so much can be exposed about what I'm subjected to during the hours I'm not permitted to roam around." Mary scolded. "I know you know better than to ask questions."

"So, you still don't like my curiosity?" He teased.

"No. But, you've certainly peaked mine. What the hell were you about to do?" She asked playfully, stepping forward now for entertainment.

"I was about to bathe. A daily occurrence, but unlike every other day you've decide to show up." He played back.

"Well, I can go…"She said gesturing toward the door as if that were how she would leave if she went. "I don't mean to intrude." Mary added with a grin.

"You're never intruding." He smiled, realizing she had just given a Mary Shannon once over- a skim with the eyes and then a smirk to mark approval. Suddenly, he wasn't so shy anymore. "You never understood that."

"What do you mean?" She questioned with her hands on her hips.

"I mean…" Marshall heaved himself up from the cushion, still wrapped in his coat, and his hands still covering his groin. "It didn't matter _when _you came here; you always claimed it put me out." He moved closer. "It never did, Mary. I never minded, and I never will." He whispered to her painfully. "The last time especially…"

"We don't need to talk about the last time, Marshall." She stated nervously, advancing further away from him. "Please."

"Okay." He soothed. "We won't."

"I just feel… crazy. You know, when we go there." Mary admitted sadly. "I understand that it was my fault, but—

"Mary, it was _not _your fault. What happened to you was heart-breaking and you deserve to feel those feelings." He cringed at her expression, wanting her internal guilt to melt away and for her to feel content again. "Aren't you supposed to feel some sort of relief? Isn't that what's supposed to happen when you—

"When you die…" She completed. "You would think—but now, we're living this freaky 'ghost' scenario out and Whoopi Goldberg isn't even here for comic relief." Mary mused, but then her eyes went dark and her expression became serious. "There is no peace when you die like I did." She whispered sadly. "There is no comfort as everyone promised. And unlike everyone's reassurances last year, I didn't get to see what it would have been like to have that kid in my arms. Everything doesn't resolve itself when your heart stops beating- that's still up to you. Unfortunately, for many of us, myself included- we don't know what the hell needs resolving." Mary growled.

"I'm—

"Don't you dare say 'you're sorry'!" She commanded. " I don't ever want to hear those words come from your mouth again! Marshall, you are the last person I need to be apologetic." Mary took a deep breath, the cool air smacked Marshall in the face, and he shivered. "Don't you ever get sick and tired of having chills because of me?" She questioned, watching him carefully as he shook the bout of frigidness from his barely covered body.

"Never." He replied. "I don't realize how cold I feel until you're gone. I'd freeze before it bothered me enough to let you go."

"I'll go when I'm ready." She responded forcefully. "And I'm not ready yet, doofus. What's Stan the Man been up to?" Mary asked, changing the subject.

"You know this and that. He's taken to wearing hats now. For some reason, he's chosen now of all times to become bashful of his hairless scalp. He has this one beret…."

"Stan? In a beret? Are we talking about the same old, short Italian guy?" Mary teased.

"Yep! That Stan!" He smiled. "I guess something snapped in that little, bald head of his. Whatever it was, he has dates now." He continued.

"Dates?! I'm about to keel over of a dead woman's heart attack! Stan?" Mary shook her head in disbelief. "How can he get dates?!"

"I don't know. Apparently, he's quite the ladies' man!" Marshall laughed now.

But, Mary had ceased her chuckling. "Have you thought about dating again?" She wondered innocently.

"Dating?!" He furrowed his brow. "I'm not necessarily sure I'm ready for that, Mary."

"Why not?" She countered. "What would be the harm?"

"I'm not ready!"

"Why the hell not?!" She screamed back.

"BECAUSE I'M NEVER GOING TO LOVE SOMEONE LIKE I LOVED—

"Abigail?" She asked calmly. "You're afraid you're never going to find someone you love as much as you did Abigail?" Mary repeated again, coming closer.

"No. Not Abigail." He muttered, looking up innocently.

"Then… who?"

He glanced at her with the most solemn of smiles. "Always you."

"Marshall…." Mary said slowly. "I- I'm gone." She added.

"I know you're gone."

"But, do you_ really_?" She raised her eyebrows. "Because I'm beginning to think that you believe this is becoming equivalent to what it was when I was alive." Mary admitted.

Marshall frowned. "You think this f_eels _like when you were _alive_?" He roared. "This is _nothing _like when you were alive! I can't touch you, and I don't work with you anymore. You're not a phone call away; you're a goddamn dimension or whatever!" He hollered. "I miss you! When I go to work, when I'm all alone, when I see Jinx or Brandi, and even right now- I _miss _you!" He huffed with rage. "What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to move on?" Marshall whimpered.

"Maybe I should cut all ties." She answered quietly.

"What?"

"I need to go. I think, I think I need to go." She repeated.

"You said you weren't ready… You told me you didn't _want _to go." Marshall cried. "You can't go!"

"I'm hurting you, Marshall. I'm really hurting you." Mary argued. "I can't take that! I don't need you suffering anymore because of me!"

"But—

"Marshall Mann, you will move on and you will grow up!" She interrupted. "And I will have no part in it! You don't need me. You need to be alone and you need to feel for a little while." She scolded.

"I have been feeling." Marshal replied childishly.

"Not the way you're supposed to be. I beg of you, Marshall take care of yourself, check on Squish and Jinx whenever you get a chance and tell those boys I miss them."

"Mary don't—

"Shhhhh…." She quieted. "I need to say one more thing." Mary Shannon leaned in, gulping the slightest bit. "I love you too."

And then, Marshall was alone again.

**Please Review and tell me what you think!**


	5. Hurt

**Please enjoy the fluffiness! **

"_**I focused on the pain, the only thing that's real. Everyone I know, goes away in the end, and you can have it all, my empire of dirt…. I will let you down, I will make you hurt."**_

_**-Nine Inch Nails, Johnny Cash**_

Marshall stared down at the body as it bled and the person groaned, finally succumbing to the vast black nothingness slowly and painfully. He panicked, attempting CPR, but the gash in his shoulder made the compressions barely anything on the boy's bony chest. It was the end for this young man, and Marshall had caused it. The attack had been surprising as this boy had no history of violence and was what he had thought to be one well-adjusted kid for having been thrown into a new identity because his big sister saw something in an alleyway she wasn't supposed to. It was a routine check-up, after one year in the program Marshall always did a little evaluating when it came to the younger witnesses and the ones more apt to find trouble.

Lucas Whitfield, a native of Minnesota was on an excursion to The Big Apple when all hell broke loose. Jenny Whitfield, of one more year of age than the then newly seventeen year old slipped beside a dumpster for a smoke to avoid choking others with her inevitable cloud of toxins. She claims she vividly recalls the day being breezy, although Marshall didn't want to believe that NYC could experience pleasant shifts in its polluted air- he kept an open mind, especially when it came to these people.

The Whitfield's were farm folk and only wanted a few days of adventure before they were shoved on a plane to Albuquerque. At first, he was displeased with their manners, but learned that their mother passed when they were both very young. They were left in the care of their grandmother, whom had a terrible drinking habit and an all but kindly demeanor. The pair had only been by themselves for a few months, but having the farm left to them in their father's will and nearly fifty-thousand dollars left in one of Mee-maw's old bank accounts, they were doing way more than making ends meet. It didn't take anyone over the age of ten to keep a house running with those kinds of funds and a few farmhands doing all of the work. Marshall, although still uncomfortable (and quite embarrassed for their mother watching from wherever she may be) decided to let their brash behavior's slide and get on with the relocation.

The vacation was specifically to escape one of Jenny's former boyfriends who had become a little rambunctious and caused a stir by attempting to break an entering. The brother and sister never expected they'd be nearly gunned down instead, and taken to another place in the middle of nowhere. Oblivious to the stereotypes, it was difficult for them to believe organized criminals were lurking in the streets only some ocean and a few blocks away from Lady Liberty. "Country Hicks…" Mary had scoffed at the sight of the young man's cowboy hat that very first day they were brought in. Marshall had scolded her, as always, but all in a day's work he shrugged off the bitterness and ignored the sarcasm of Mary Shannon.

Mary hadn't liked them either, but for entirely different reason. She said it was doubtful they could have been at the wrong place at the wrong time- she believed it for most, but for some reason not those two. Rather insightful evidence had come through just recently, perhaps confirming his own suspicion a little more, but of course he had hoped for the best. With Mary no longer at his side he tried to be even more optimistic. Marshall lost this one though, as the boy- apparently coming down from a serious high had come after the Inspector with a used syringe and rotten teeth. Having been out on his own for only six months, it was surprising to have found him in this kind of serious disarray. If attacking him with a dirty needle hadn't been sufficient enough to put a damper on his life, he grabbed the steak knife lying on his crumb coated and residue encrusted one person dining room table. He decided, in his rage to swing wildly at the Marshal who dodged a few of his frantic waves of the knife. Alas, he was caught by the blade and it swiped across his bicep, slashing through his jacket. He glanced down for just a moment when Luke was winding up for a jab toward his face and Marshall kicked, perhaps a little too hard and there was a fast flowing river of red, gushing into the white carpeting. He called for an ambulance, but it was too late. Lucas Whitfield was dead and Marshall had killed him.

He had been taught in training that self-defense was different. Or at least it was supposed to be. But, even as he watched his blazer seep with his own blood, he couldn't be angry. He was still quite upset, and he lay back against the wall trying to take deep breaths, ignoring the stinging and sharp pains up and down his arm. Marshall was sweating, shaking his head and begging that he'd open his eyes and Lucas would be happily staring back at him. But, he wouldn't be. Marshall stared at his own foot, where a chunk of hair and blood shined in the dim light. He sighed, hearing the sirens and decided to get to his feet. He cradled his shoulder, taking a final glance at the guy on the ground, letting his heart beat guiltily yet again.

The sirens approached rapidly and Marshall consoled himself, swiping away tears that had been forming at the corners of his eyes. The last time one of the Inspectors in the Albuquerque office had killed someone, it had been Mary. It was the day of Brandi's wedding; she had shot down a man in the tunnels of the courthouse. It had been that day Mary was in labor. It wasn't until after the nuptials that it happened. She collapsed at the altar and hadn't woke up until she was hooked up into tubes and wires. Marshall tried to shake the memory away from him, but it kept on coming. When her eyes opened, he was there, grabbing her clammy hand and already pushing away the sadness. But, his strength was low. He didn't want to be the one who had to tell her. _Mary, I'm so… sorry. _She had been so upset, he couldn't take remembering.

The paramedics came through the doorway, looking around to see the still boy and the bleeding Marshal, one rushed to him. "You'll just need some stitches." He said, "We can bandage this and you can see a physician." So they wrapped the snowy white bandages around his shoulder and taped it up.

"Thank you." He whispered, "Can you bring him to the nearest hospital? Have the morgue take care of him and I'll have someone down there in a few hours."

Marshall called to explain everything to Stan and even attempted to go back to the office to file some paperwork or sign some things, but Stan refused to let him return. So, Marshall found himself heading back to his house promptly after being stitched up. He frowned, realizing his disdain for the world at this moment, knowing he had been dragging himself through the last couple of months. Mary was nowhere to be found; the last traces of her had gone with her ghostly departure and had remained away for the past few weeks. She had kept her word, but Marshall found himself sinking lower and lower, and falling deeper into his self-pity as the days of excruciating memories crept by ever so slowly. He always remembered. It didn't matter where he was or what he was doing, he always had some memory to tag along with his everyday vices, and like a recurring nightmare he'd remember she was gone. Actually gone, and he wouldn't ever get her back. Sometimes, he still spoke to her, and every day he spoke _of _her. To Stan, to Delia and mostly to himself, recalling what stuck out most in his mind before that day she left him for good. He'd smile briefly and then his heart would sink down into chest and thud solemnly once more.

At home, he'd increase the volume of the TV, pretending he wasn't alone. He'd turn it up every so often until he heard a neighbor knocking on the wall, or a sound that unnerved his restless mind. Marshall forgot what peace was and wanted nothing more to feel it again, but realized he never would, because his true rest only lied in the soul of Mary Shannon. And now that had vanished like everything else.

Abigail had sent a sympathy card, but only managed to sound cold and bitterer in her condolences, apparently her apologies she expressed that day she moved out hadn't sufficed enough for the red headed detective. But, all she had managed to do was rub salt in his already stinging and lonely wounds. He had torn it up, ripping and hollering. He felt betrayed, as if he hadn't already hurt, she took it upon herself to make him hurt some more.

"I've loved you longer than you know, Mary." He whispered. "And I wish I could have had the gull to tell you ten years ago!" He shouted to the emptiness around him.

Marshall pressed his hand to his shoulder, to feel the stinging that reminded him he was still there. "I wish I had never joined the Marshal Service, and then I never would have met you. I would never know what this feels like." He collapsed on the couch, his knees buckling under the weight of his own sorrows. "Can you imagine the heartache I would have saved myself if I hadn't fallen for you? Don't you realize what I went through to keep you around? Didn't you ever look back and think who had kept you from being fired, or killed?"

He shook his head. "Apparently, I've lost my touch. Everyone around me is falling. And you, you were the last person I had ever thought I'd see go." Marshall ran his fingers through his hair which was damp with sweat and he shot up from the sofa. "I killed someone today, Mary!" He screamed to the open space.

Then, he fell. His bottom struck the floor, and he shouted, emptying the air from his lungs and then sobbed. He sobbed, shuddering and sputtering for air. New memories of Lucas lying cold and high on the ground filled his brain, as well as the older pictures of Mary, dying in his arms; it was like watching the blood spill onto his own clothes all over again. He was horrified of his very own mind, aching for a kind thought, or a wonderful recollection. "I _killed _a boy, today!" Marshall cried. "A boy with a lot of time left! I should have just let him take that blade to my throat!" He screeched, feeling a undeniably numbing chill.

"_No, you shouldn't have!_" She snarled. "You get to stay here! You get to _live_! Why the hell won't you understand!? Why don't you realize what you just said! Christ, Marshall Mann- fucking pull yourself together, because I can't stay with you forever!"

He glanced up at the icy apparition, eyes glistening with the tears he was shedding.

"Mary?"

"I mean it, Marshall. I can't stay with you forever!" She paused, frowning and then rolling her eyes. "But, I suppose I can remain here a little while longer." Mary finally admitted. "Now, come closer, let me see that gnarly gash on your shoulder!"

**Review and tell me what you think!**


	6. An Awakening

_**A/N: Okie dokie, guys! I know this seems abrupt. But, really, I hope you enjoy anyway! I didn't know what else to do. You may all be a little confused. But, the next chapter should explain! Sorry it's been so long!**_

""**Though lovers be lost, love shall not; And death shall have no dominion."  
― Dylan Thomas**

**XXX**

Mary and Marshall spent most of their time talking of her family, his parents, and sometimes Stan. Marshall talked of how Brandi was faring, and Mary recollected too many times that day at the wedding. Then, she told him of the second go around, and the beauty of those nuptials, much smaller than the first, more personal. Brandi came around, but it took the birth of hers and Peter's sons to do it.

He couldn't help but bring it up when there was a second of quiet.

"It's been a whole month," Marshall sighed. "You've been gone a whole month."

He had his arms crossed over his chest, lying on his bed. His breathing was slow, his heart steady in his ears.

"Technically, I haven't been gone at all," she stated, cool air tickling his cheeks as it seemed she came closer.

"But, Brandi, and Jinx… the boys…"

"How are the boys?" she asked, trying to veer away from the solemnity of the subject.

"They're… confused," Marshall admitted. "They really don't understand, and Brandi can't explain the concept well enough… not that she is doing a bad job of explaining it, it's just—

"Not an easy thing to explain," Mary finished with a huff.

The room was becoming frigid; Marshall let out a shiver as the cold coursed through his veins, and then threw his comforter over himself.

"And Peter can't seem to help them comprehend, either. Brandi asked me to give it a shot," he choked, "but I respectfully declined that melancholy opportunity. I love those boys, Mary, but I don't think I, in good conscience, can illustrate the death of their aunt in a proper manner. Especially, when she visits me every night," he joked half-heartedly.

There was a silence, one where you could almost hear the chilliness consume the room. He had to glance over to make sure she hadn't left.

She hadn't. She was lying there, lost in the depths of her glacial aura, then with a croak she said rather airily, "You know, there was only supposed to be one of them."

Marshall furrowed his brow. "One of what?"

"The boys," Mary added immediately. "Jake was a sure surprise when he came feet first straight after Samuel," she turned, "he was extra. We had half the clothes, half the… everything. To top it off, Peter had to go and give me unwanted sympathetic glances every two seconds in the delivery room."

"Mary," he began, rolling onto his side. "It was very shortly after—

"Marshall you know I don't like talking about it."

"Alright, I'll let it slide." He paused for a short second, then furrowed his brow, "You didn't tell me you were in the delivery room," he deflected.

"You didn't even know about the second kid until they were six weeks old," Mary scoffed. "That must have been a surprise."

"I was aware of the pregnancy. You told me about that."

"Unfortunately, you and Nancy Drew were getting real friendly around that time. I thought it best to keep my distance while you two were still fresh onto that whole engagement thing."

"Well… Mary…"

"It wasn't my place, Marshall. I understood that!" she said forcefully.

"No need to yell," he chuckled nervously. "I, um, appreciate you thinking of my relationship. You know… in- in that respect," he replied, rubbing his neck uncomfortably.

"I see it's done you a hell of a lot of good," she snorted, watching the way he still hurt because of the long gone red head.

"I don't think Abigail and I meshed as well as we thought," he exhaled. "I understand now it was just a case of wishful thinking that spiraled out of our control." They both knew it wouldn't have lasted, not if Mary had survived that nightmare. They would have parted eventually, anyway.

"I do miss Jake and Sam," Mary said backtracking to her nephews. "They were some pretty stellar kids."

"In every Aunt's eyes their nephews can do no wrong," Marshall played, a mild smirk on his lips in light of the recent topics of discussion.

"You say that, but you know me. I'm no good with kids. They were different, it was… easier with them. For one, they were cuter than any babies I'd ever seen, and two, I had no choice but to help out Brandi after little bomb tagged along with Samuel."

"Little bomb?" Marshall wondered confusedly.

"Yeah," Mary laughed. "Jake came so quickly, it scared the ever loving hell out of Brandi. I called him 'little bomb', because I'd never seen Squish so surprised."

"It was a good surprise, I'll assume," Marshall coaxed, attempting to keep the conversation rolling.

"Of course! She loves that boy, just as much as she does Jake!" Mary sat up, the air whooshing through his hair quickly, ruffling the mop on his head.

"I wouldn't doubt it." he responded softly.

"I loved them, too."

"I wasn't implicating otherwise," he let out a forced chuckle.

Mary seemed to be finished with that subject, quickly calling attention to something Marshall wouldn't want brought up. She had an uncanny way of sniffing out what he'd rather leave untouched.

"So did Stan-the-man make you talk to Finkel?" she asked almost absently.

"Hm?" and then the words clicked, "Shelley. Yes, he did make me talk to Shelley," Marshall said honestly. Mary had gotten to know that woman very well. It wasn't easy to take a man's life, assist a run-away bride, and lose a baby all in the same day. Stan made sure as hell that Mary would be welcomed by Finkel the moment she walked back through those WITSEC doors. Upon her return, it seemed she was held up in the conference room for a majority of each day, arguing, pouting, and crying. It was a sight Marshall didn't like to see, one he was glad he could be spared from when the shades were pulled shut, and the scene was disclosed from his view

"So, what did she have to say?"

"Not much," he lied, knowing the topic of discussion was mostly Mary, and other things he didn't care perusing through during chats.

"_Not much_?" she snorted. "You kicked the life out of a drugged out country hick. Finkel has to bereading into it! What, you can tell me? She thinks you have a problem with rednecks, now? Thinks you want to be a superhero wanting to take down druggies?" Mary wiggled like a small child waiting for a bedtime story.

"No. None of that," he huffed. "Finkel just thinks I've been through a lot. Too much in such a short period of time….."

"Do you believe her?"

"I'd like to. Did I really have to kill the kid, Mare? Couldn't I have taken less extraordinary measures?"

"Marshall, I'm sure you did the right thing, you always do," she stated as a matter of fact. "Stan probably needs to do it to save face."

He began to reach up, but stopped himself, feeling ice on his fingertips rather than the soft blonde strands of hair he had meant to push away from her eyes.

She smirked, "You know it really frightens me when you try to touch me."

"It's just habit… you're so real."

"I may be real, but, you know what I think when you try to put your hands on me," Mary sighed, hopping to her feet.

"It seems as though we've been over it a million times, Mary," Marshall said, staying in his place, wrapped in blankets, unmoving to stay warm.

"I just don't want you to think this is how we should stay. Eventually—

"Shut up, Mary."

"What?" she questioned in disbelief.

"Every time I do something anywhere near intimate, you threaten to leave," he stood up too, sheets still around him. "Make up your mind! Do you want to stay, or not?"

"It's not that I don't want to stay! It's that I don't want you digging yourself a hole so deep you can't get the hell out!" Mary hollered.

"I'm a grown man! I can—

"But you can't!" she interrupted. "Not really. You think you can keep your life and this time with me separate, but it's not as easy as you would think!"

"Why do you have to be like this?"

"So everyone doesn't lose you, Marshall!" she shouted. And her eyes were wild and raging with hurt, and sadness, like she had lost something too and she stared at him, a deep gaze he didn't dare to break.

"What?" he whispered. "Why would they lose me?"

And she came closer, and closer and he began to shake with the cold, his arms were like icicles, his head heavy on his shoulders, she approached at an excruciatingly slow pace. "Don't you see? It's not me who has gone, Marshall. It was you." And there was this artic blow that rocketed across his stomach.

His knees buckled, his tailbone crashing against the wooden floor, but her eyes never left his.

Frosty fingers touched his cheek, it was only seconds before there was a numbness in his face. "Mary, what are you—

"Shhhhh," she said, her expression pained. "Be quiet. Everything is fine," her image changed, no longer murky in his view, she was so crystal clear. And he didn't know why.

He was so confused. So confused, but his body was solid, grounded like a brick cemented to the floor. She could see he was wondering and Marshall was well aware she was wondering too.

Now he couldn't make words. He wanted to, he wanted her to know that he wouldn't leave anyone like he had left her. "D-d-don't l-leave m-me a-gain," he pleaded helplessly. And then her brow furrowed, and that's all he saw as everything went black.

When he opened his eyes, it was like staring into the brightest light, whiteness pierced his pupils, and he was blinded by it. He felt someone squeezing his hand, tightness in his chest and soreness everywhere. He groaned, "Who's that?"

"It's me."

The voice was like magic, tickling his eardrums; whimsicalness came about his aching limbs. But, there was an unsure appeal to it, almost scary.

"Mary?"

"Yeah? You're awake," she quivered. "We thought you were lost there for a while."

"I-I can—

He sputtered for a few moments, his throat suddenly burning for wetness. He continued through the desert in his mouth, "I can… f-feel y-you."

"Of course you can," she stated strangely. "Let me get a nurse…" It was an urgent tone, like she was surprised to be making this exchange. He felt her fingers fall from his, and his heart dropped low into his gut. Everything was still so fuzzy. He couldn't make out anything just yet. But, the bright light was fading.

"A nurse?" he repeated.

"Yeah, Marshall, you need—

"No," he said abruptly. "Don't. I want you to stay here for a little while," he coughed. "Don't go." He attempted to lift his arm.

"I have to. You've been…" she sighed defeated, and he was sure there were tears being shed. "Marshall they'd kill me if I told you."

" Who? Tell me what?" he whispered, as things began to flesh out in his vision. There was a clock on the wall, a TV blaring some commercials. His legs were elevated uncomfortable on pillows, and he felt freezing. Why would his ghost, his ghost of Mary Shannon be playing such a cruel joke?

"You're supposed to be dead," she broke. "They've zapped you with those paddles five times. You got your brains scrambled in that parking garage."

He could feel himself shaking his head, "This isn't funny. I don't think you're funny for tricking me like this," his head was pounding, "you're the one who's dead."

Marshall could feel Mary's piercing and horrified gaze. A perfect poker face if he could see her or not.

"I'll nix the nurse idea and just get you a doctor," she responded.

Everything was in and out, the room. A hospital room. How does this make sense?

Mary was gone. He was upset. She always left, always. She never stayed. He just wanted her to stay for once. He should be getting dressed, should be going to work.

"I wasn't joking he's awake!" He heard from his left, so he turned his head.

There was pain. Lots of it.

"Woah there!" the strange man segued. "Slow down," he ordered. "Now, can you answer a few questions?" He felt him stabilize his had with his hands.

"Mhm, sure?"

"What's your name?"

"Marshal Marshall Mann."

"Good. Now, Marshall. I'm going to tell you something that may be difficult to comprehend right now."

He felt the smaller, thinner fingers slide into his. This time they were warm, they squeezed. She was back.

"Shoot," Marshall responded, and he thought he felt the grip on his right hand grow tighter, and in the fuzziness he could see the man cringe.

"It's been one month. You were in a medically induced coma, because you were shot in the line of duty."

**I hope you enjoyed, sorry if you're confused!**

**Please review with any questions or to tell me what you think!**


	7. Grateful for Another Day

**This chapter is rather short! But, I liked it! Mary and Marshall fluff. I don't really know how to continue this. So, I give you my apologies in advance if it takes me a while to get the creative juices flowing! Still working on a new fic, that I hope will be as successful as "Her Moment of Weakness." I've also had a lot of time for my Rizzoli and Isles fic, which I don't take very much pride in, aside from the fact a very many people follow it each posting! I thank those of you who review, and the ones who read each new chapter! Words can describe how much I appreciate you!**

**Happy reading! **

"_**You may never know, how fast that you can go, 'til someone lifts your feet right off the ground…" –Sugarland, "We Run."**_

"You know," his voice rasped, not yet used to the utilization of his vocal chords, his body was working entirely against each word he tried to force from his own lips, "a couple of years ago," he stopped again, practically mesmerized by her expression, sincere and ready to soak up his every syllable, taking note of such a moment in his swimming, screaming mind, he ended, "I almost signed a DNR."

Her fingers, which seemed to have not left his palm for these short hours of visitation, dug unintentionally into the soft flesh of his hand, and he became aware that this subject was going to be touchy.

"That's when everything with Abigail hadn't…" He trailed off, taking a ragged breath, and decided the rest of his sentence was implied, "But, I'm glad, I didn't." he said, trying his damnedest not to rotate his head on his neck in the least bit.

"I'm glad you didn't too," Mary replied hushed, playing with a wrinkle in his bed sheet, breaking her gaze, attempting a more casual tone. A smirk played upon her lips, "I wouldn't have ever been able to live down letting Marshal Marshall Mann get capped." There was a slightly self-accusatory exhalation of air that escaped her, a sound she must have meant to be a laugh.

Marshall didn't have his sight back completely, because along with her words, the view of the woman in front of him was difficult to ascertain. He assumed it would be this way for a while. His heart ached, suddenly remembering that world. The world he had created in his busted noggin- that world where she was untouchable. Marshall couldn't move very much, and with the little effort he could conjure, he ran his fingertip across her knuckle.

She blamed herself for a lot of things in his twisted drug-induced nightmare. It was unexpected to him that she might feel guilty about this situation, and even though she had barely admitted it, he could tell there was something else festering in her depths. As the room grew silent, and his ears lent his broken, one track mind to his vision, he observed the rogue tear sliding down her cheek from the corner of one of her tired eyes.

"Mary…" Marshall whispered, now executing the taxing motion of reaching to stroke her cheek, but his arm fell, and his head throbbed, peeved with the small task. He pushed his hand back into hers, "I know it doesn't feel like it now," he coughed, "but I am not going anywhere."

"I know," was her response, but it was low, unsure, and possibly unready.

"It's," he let his eyelids fall over his agitated pupils for only a split second, and regained the hazy focus he wanted, "it's going to be fine."

"Says the man with a hole in his head," Mary responded quickly, causing a sharp pang in his skull, similar to the feeling of his whole brain colliding across his forehead, and then, returning to an unsteady equilibrium.

"Don't forget the one in my chest," he countered, squeezing the bed railing, hoping to combat his splitting headache. Breathing was becoming a chore, which he had found was a sure thing when he talked for long periods of time.

"That sure makes me feel better," Mary sighed, rubbing at her eyebrow.

"I don't mean any harm," he apologized as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he had no strength to let the bright, fluorescent light penetrate his pupils any more. "Mare, I'm going to keep my eyes shut. I mean no disrespect, it's just my noggin is screaming…"

He felt her fingers clench tightly into his, "Then, I should go. You should get some rest."

"Mhmm, no. I don't want you to go."

This seemed to surprise, she let out a quick scoff, "I suppose I can stay…"

"By all means if it's any tr— he cringed, clenching his jaw for any means to relieve the pressure in his head.

"Marshall?" she wondered quietly, "are you okay?"

The bandages felt itchy around his noggin, and he knew it was from the patches of his hair they had shaved for their ease. Sweat sprung from the snowy white edges and he could feel it rolling down his face, but it never got very far, because he'd feel a cool swipe, tender across his cheek and it would be gone, as quickly as the contact had come.

"It's probably no surprise, but I do have a splitting headache," he spat out in between bursts of fireworks under his eyelids.

"We don't have to talk," she said quietly in respect of his ailment, "try for some sleep, Marshall. You should get some rest," Mary repeated worriedly. "I mean it, Inspector!" she teased.

His toe twitched, one of the very few movements his bottom half could still do. There would be months of physical therapy, and maybe years with a cane after that, but he was thankful.

"I wouldn't make you sit— another sharp pang, speech stopping. He let it subside before continuing, enjoying Mary's reflexive double hand squeeze on his fingers, "I wouldn't make you sit in silence."

"I'd rather sit here and do all the talking," she snorted, "I've caused enough damage to that factoid crammed cranium of yours."

There was a tenseness that filled the air. Marshall wanted to refute the statement, but the content of his quaking brain matter was keeping him from doing so.

"Mark came around about a week ago," Mary added to the silence. "He was drunk off his ass, stumbling down the pathway," she scoffed, "we didn't talk about the baby."

Marshall pressed his fingernails into the soft flesh of her palm, and grunted, starkly unable to vocalize any one of the five billion thoughts raging within.

"I think it's a good thing," she continued. "Bringing it up may cause a hurricane of a special kind of hell in my life, and my worry bank has been chock full with you," she had gone onto tracing his thumbnail, and then rubbing her knuckles back and forth against his arm, as if it calmed her. "I knew you wouldn't leave me," Mary spewed rapidly, "I didn't know what I'd do…"

He was burning inside, trying to conjure up any strength to give a reply, and it came out broken, less fluent, "I literally—he clutched the blankets with his free hand, "literally, fought d-eath to get ba-back to you, so you d-don't have to figure it out…"

There was a very soft lovely pair of lips pressed to his, just for the slightest second, along with a wonderful stroke from his temple to his chin. The pain melted away for just that instance, and then came back in fiery revenge when he heard the sound of her bottom hitting the cushion of the chair beside him.

"That was to show my appreciation," she mused, "I couldn't relay my gratefulness any other way."

He felt his face twist in expression; with his eyes closed his smile must look even goofier than usual, he thought.

There was an unabashedly amazing moment of quiet, clearness, realization. Mary caressed his side, smoothing his gown across his torso, just for something to do.

"I imagine Stan is going to stop by," she whispered. "He'll be awfully excited to see you mostly up right, and somewhat into conversing," Mary lowered her voice. It was just gentle now, as if she were drifting to sleep, "Brandi stopped by a week ago, she knew I'd be here, I even bought a laptop so I could get work done at home or when I was here. I talked to you about a few cases. I actually thought you were coming to a few days ago. There was this ordeal with Lucas Whitfield, that druggy kid you were taking care of last year. He went after me with a knife, his sister ended up bludgeoning his in his noggin with a vase. It was a real rodeo, I wish you had been there to see it," she yawned.

It was good for him to hear those stories, because it made him feel less crazy, a little more in control of the hell his brain had put him through. He hadn't made up the boy's death, it was all real. There was a special ache in his chest for that lost soul, but it would most likely dissipate, or take a backseat to his own troubles by tomorrow.

"And Stan, well he has a new toupee. It's the most awful thing I have ever seen in my entire life," she went on. "It looks like a possum climbed up his tubby body, and keeled over atop his shiny cap. It's ridiculous," Mar laughed a little, a joyful snicker that was music to Marshall's ears, "Delia said something to him, and now he's on to wearing this silly beret… I think I told you about this too…" There was another yawn, and a quiet sound, three words ever so gently faded off into the expanse of this hospital room, only lingering for as long it took the blonde haired Marshal to fall into a slumber, "I love you."

He felt the heaviness of this long day crash to his sides, the tingling in his legs was unnoticeable and less troubling, and the rhythmic "beep" supplied by the monitors were more soothing now than irritating. It was strange. He had wanted those three words for so long, but she was perfectly fine with not hearing them back. She must have known all along.

**If anyone has any suggestions, I would very much like to hear them! Working feverishly on the new one, but would like to get this one to at least chapter 10!**

**Hope you liked it, please review and tell me what you thought!**


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